


Oreiades

by WildwingSuz



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 21:31:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildwingSuz/pseuds/WildwingSuz
Summary: Mulder and Scully investigate an odd case dealing with an unusual painting while learning more about each other after the events of “all things”.





	Oreiades

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: I got the idea for this story from my Mac’s Word of the Day screensaver. When it popped up with “oread” I had never heard of them and did more research. My first thought was that this was a perfect X-File if ever there was one.
> 
>  
> 
> Spoilers: all things, takes place about a week afterward

Thanks to my beta Chaneenw for an extremely helpful, very thorough edit on short notice

 

 **Oreiades**  
Suzanne L. Feld  
Rated NC-17

 

 

**One**

 

 

“Oread?” Scully said, glancing up at Mulder from the file he had just handed her.  “Sounds like an Irish novel.”

 

He grinned.  “It’s pronounced awh-re-ad.  They’re a group of nymphs who were often the companions or handmaidens of Artemis or Hera.  Via Latin oreas from Greek oreias, which means mountains, also known as Orodemniades and Oreiades depending on location.  According to Greek mythology they were the nymphs of mountains, hills, rocky slopes and grottoes and were often called by names derived from the particular mountains that they inhabited. The Oreads were the patrons of travelers, who they helped through dangerous mountain passes and hills. Like all nymphs, they had the gift of prophecy and divination, and the Oreads were closely associated with the ancient Greek oracles.”

 

“And we have a case regarding these mythical Greek nymphs, why?” She narrowed her eyes at him.  “They don’t work at Dirty Dames, do they?”

 

Mulder’s grin grew, his hazel eyes sparkling down at her.  “There’s an idea.  But no, there’s been some unusual happenings regarding a painting of Oreads at the Met in New York.  Considering  young women have been affected, I did my research into the subject matter.”

 

“And this has nothing to do with the fact that the painting is of young, naked, nubile women?”

 

Mulder took the file back, still smiling.  In it, a professionally printed 8 x 10 reproduction of the painting in question showed four naked, voluptuous young women lounging on what appeared to be pillows and scarves in a cave; a fifth, older woman dressed in flowing white robes sat on a rock above them playing a lyre.  She had blonde hair braided into a coronet around her head, with olive branches tucked into the strands to form a second crown.  It was a lush, richly detailed painting and at first glance looked to be by one of the Italian Renaissance masters.  However, the signature was in Greek characters--δικος μου-- which had been translated to mean “mine”, and the artist had never been identified. “I’ve got my own nymph to ogle these days,” he said in a low voice, meeting her eyes. Even now, nearly a week after they’d broken that last barrier, he got a jolt in his belly thinking about it.

 

“Nymph, right,” she scoffed, but the clear blue eyes that gazed up into his were bright, and the corner of her mouth quirked in a momentary smile. God, how he wanted to kiss her.  “So, what happens to the women who are affected?”

 

Mulder let the remark slide, but he thought he would try and show her later just what he thought a nymph was—and it wasn’t some young, Rubenesque girl like in the painting, but a slender redhead with a skeptical attitude and the bravest heart he’d ever known. “The painting arrived with a Greek exhibition regarding artwork about the gods—“

 

“I saw the ads, I want to go see that when it comes to DC,” she interrupted.

 

Mulder nodded. “Me too. Anyway, there have been reports over the last few weeks that some of the young women who view the painting have had a reaction to it, usually described as a tingling or shiver flowing through them. It came to light because Jane Herbert—”

 

“The Green Door restaurant heiress?  She of the infamous video?”

 

“The very same. She was at the presentation party and said that when she looked at the painting, it was like a quote ‘ghost walked across her grave’, unquote.” Mulder flipped a few pages in the file and turned it, and as he hoped Scully had to get up from where she was leaning against the desk and take a few steps to stand beside him to see it. The pressure of her shoulder against his upper arm made a shiver chase over him, but certainly for a different reason than the women who viewed the painting.  He pointed to a line in the report, and Scully leaned in a bit more. It was crazy that she had this effect on him after all the years they’d worked together, but the memory of holding her in his arms, how she reacted to him, was enough to scramble his brain. 

 

“She’s well-known for being an attention hound, and a bit of a flake,” Scully remarked, standing up straighter but not moving away.  She put one hand above his on the edge of the file, but made no attempt to take it from him.  Her pinky finger caressed his thumb briefly and then she abruptly moved away, going back to where she had been half-leaning, half-sitting against the front of the desk.

 

He was baffled at her sudden retreat until he looked over to see that her cheeks were pinking and realized where he’d seen that shade of blush before.  Had she really gotten aroused just from being that close to him?  But considering he was already half-hard from that brush of one finger against his hand, perhaps it wasn’t so far-fetched.

 

There had always been that edge of sexual tension between them, but it seemed to have been replaced with an uneasy awkwardness at times now that they’d done the dirty deed.  It was almost like they didn’t know how to treat each other anymore, especially when they were in close physical proximity.  When they were around other people in a professional setting it wasn’t an issue, but the moment they were alone together things got a little uncomfortable. 

 

They had agreed, of course, to be nothing but professional partners when on FBI time.  That seemed to work well except when they were alone in their basement office.  He mentally shook his head and recalled from the depths of his eidetic memory what she’d last said before he’d gotten distracted.  “She is,” he agreed, then dropped the bomb he’d been waiting to hit her with, which would cement her interest in the case.  “But what’s interesting is after that, she caught her uncle in a plot to kill her for her money.”

 

“What?” Scully pushed off from the desk, one eyebrow quirking.  “Are you serious?”

 

He grinned again, having gotten the response he’d been hoping for.  “As a grave.  See for yourself.”

 

She came over and took the file from him, then went to sit behind the desk with it, every inch the professional FBI Special Agent.  He dropped his lanky frame into one of the chairs in front, stretching his legs out and idly playing with the end of his tie while waiting for her to read through it.

 

That was how their boss found them, knocking briefly on the half-open door before stepping in.  “Agents,” he said in his distinctive voice, the overhead light flashing off the lens of his round glasses.  “I haven’t gotten a 302 from you recently.  What are you working on?”

 

Scully closed the file, then handed it over to him as he moved up next to Mulder’s chair. 

 

“A case that was brought to my attention, sir,” Mulder said, sitting up straighter.  Yet more proof that fooling around in the office was a very, very bad idea.  “It’s regarding Jane Herbert, the heiress.”

 

“Hmm.” Skinner sat down in the other chair and opened the file.  They both waited quietly while he paged through it, studiously not looking at each other.  “So, what you’re proposing here is that women who view this painting become, what, psychic?  Seriously?”

 

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, sir,” Scully said, but the twinkle in her eye didn’t fool Mulder.

 

“Something like that,” he allowed, smiling slightly.  “But I’m sure Agent Scully will discover that there’s some kind of perfectly natural spore coming off the painting or a malfunctioning air conditioning vent that’s affecting these women instead.”

 

“Well, I’m sure they’re not really psychic,” she rebutted. “And don’t you dare bring up Clyde Bruckman again.”

 

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” Skinner said, rising and handing the file to Mulder, who could tell that his boss was fighting a grin.  He was relieved that they hadn’t aroused his suspicions about their private lives so far. “I can’t wait to see this request, that’s for sure.”

 

**Two**

 

They spent the rest of the afternoon working on the case after Skinner approved it without comment.  Mulder called the women who’d said they felt something to set up interviews with them, while Scully did further investigation into the history of the painting. She was familiar with Greek art, being a fan of both their sculpture and pottery, and learned far more than she had planned. Paintings by Greek artists done in similar eras were very different from this one, as the style was much more in the type of Renaissance masters. It had been carbon-dated to the early 1300s, nearly a century before even the earliest Renaissance painters had begun the style.  And it was more like a later Titian than an early Botticelli, which was even more uncommon.  The materials had been traced to southern Greece and not a Western European country where the Renaissance style had begun so unless a very, very early pre-Renaissance painter had traveled there, it was indeed a Greek artist.

 

After finishing their respective tasks they updated the paperwork, then each headed home to pack after planning to meet at the airport. Though they usually rode together, it wasn’t even discussed this time.

 

Scully found herself disappointed as she drove to her apartment, then scolded herself for it.  Just because they’d finally had sex didn’t mean they were joined at the hip, she knew.  She was a little taken aback at how much she wanted him; she’d never been like this with a man before.  Though she’d always enjoyed sex, being with Mulder took it to a whole new level that she had never imagined. 

 

She had barely kicked her shoes off when she heard a knock at the door.  Thinking it might be her landlord, since it was almost the end of the month, Scully opened it without looking.

 

Of course Mulder stood there, still in his suit. “You know, Scully, since we usually—“

 

He got no further before she grabbed him by the tie and dragged him inside, then kicked the door shut with one nylon-clad foot as she kissed him eagerly.  Mulder wasn’t slow on the uptake; after a surprised stumble through her doorway, he wrapped his arms around her and joined in enthusiastically.  She backed him up against the wooden credenza next to the door and went up on her tiptoes, fingers tangled in his hair and her body flush against his as their mouths and tongues explored each other. 

 

So much for ‘on FBI time’, she thought absently, but didn’t really care at the moment.

 

“You know, our flight leaves in two hours,” he murmured while nuzzling her cheek once they broke the frantic kiss, both panting.  “How about our first quickie?”

 

“Sounds good to me,” she breathed, tilting her head so he could plant kisses along her neck and down toward her chest.  In that position she could just see the clock on the stereo.  “We need to leave in half an hour, so let’s see what you can do.”

 

“More than enough time,” he said, working his way down to unbutton her blazer.  “And I’m gonna make you come at least twice.”

 

A shiver chased over her, and she felt a surge of dampness between her legs.  Mulder’s confident sexuality hadn’t exactly been a surprise, but it still drove her wild.  She’d never been with a lover who was so open and sensually self-assured, and she still wondered why in the hell he’d been single for so many years.  It wasn’t for lack of sexual skill, that much was for sure.

 

They stumbled towards the couch, removing each other’s clothing rapidly.  Mulder almost fell as he hopped out of his pants and boxers, Scully caught and held him upright, then she tumbled back on the couch so he could peel her pantyhose off.  They were mostly naked from the waist down. Mulder was wearing his socks, undershirt, and dress shirt, Scully still in her lacy white bra, but it was good enough.

 

Though they’d only had sex twice before, Mulder’s eidetic memory came in handy at a time like this as he remembered how to do what would get her off.  Sitting with her ass hanging off the bottom of the couch and arms over her head to clutch the cushions above and behind her, Scully let him do as he wanted.  He spread her legs and one of his large hands found her labia, two fingers easing inside her wet vagina as his thumb caressed her swollen clit.  “Wish I had time to eat you out, but I’ll make up for it when we’ve got more time,” he rumbled, looking down at where he was manipulating her expertly. His other hand slid up her body to squeeze one breast through her bra, and just his openly-aroused gaze into her eyes nearly made her come.  Mulder loved to watch and look at her when they had sex, and it drove her mad with desire.

 

“That a promise?” she gasped.

 

“Damn straight,” he murmured, looking down at what he was doing between her legs.

 

He rotated his wrist as he pumped his fingers in and out of her, bumping her clit whenever his thumb was in the right place while his other hand gently pinched and rubbed her nipples.  She rose to peak far faster than she ever had by herself, and gasped, “Just my…ah, clit—now.”

 

He gently withdrew from her body with a sucking noise, she was so wet, and concentrated on her clit, rubbing both sides with his fingers wet from her juices.  “Harder,” she panted, arching her back, clutching at the cushions behind her head as if they were life preservers.

 

Still working one nipple, he increased pressure, his eyes at half-mast but ablaze, his full-lipped mouth hanging open as he watched her.  Between all of the sensations Scully overloaded and exploded, her eyes slamming shut as she cried out her pleasure, thrusting her hips up at him, letting the waves wash over her as her vaginal muscles pulsed and contracted.

 

“ _You_ are a goddess, the goddess of sex personified,” she heard Mulder say in a rasping voice as she felt him lift her further up onto the couch, her arms falling limply to her sides.  “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful and amazing as you, Scully.”

 

Before she could even think of what to reply she felt the couch cushions dip and opened her eyes to see Mulder climbing up over her, his large warm hands beneath her slender thighs as he parted them further.  The tails of his unbuttoned Oxford shirt hung down, but his undershirt had ridden up so she could see his flat belly and rippling abs.  “You ready for me, Scully?”

 

“Always,” she breathed, though her body still quaked with slow-fading aftershocks and she felt totally boneless, like an amoeba floating in seawater.  But before she could recover her breath, Mulder was sliding slowly inside her, his lean muscular body arching over hers with his feet on the floor and hands on the back of the couch.  He was so large that if he didn’t prepare her well it could have been painful, especially with as long as it been for her before they began having sex, so he was slow and careful as he watched her face.  “Oh my God,” she moaned, bracing her knees on his ribs, feet just touching behind his back.

 

“Feel good?” he rasped, pausing briefly while still deep inside her and gazing down at her face.  “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

 

“Perfect,” she assured him, lifting both hands to his muscular, flexing sides, and then briefly cupping the side of his face with one palm.  “Never better.”

 

“Then hang on, cause we’re down to twenty minutes,” he said with a crooked grin, which faded as he adjusted himself one final time before beginning to pump into her.

 

He started slowly, so Scully urged him on with her knees and feet tugging and bumping at him, kind of like kicking a horse to make it run, she thought with some amusement.  It didn’t take him long to catch on and within moments he was fucking her hard and fast, putting his considerable strength into it, shoving her into the cushions so hard that she began to bounce back at him. 

 

She could only clutch his lean sides and moan and cry out, gazing up at him as another orgasm built; the way he had her legs spread and hips lifted caused his pubic hair and bone to slam against her clit in the most amazing way.  On top of that, his sizeable cockhead scraping the walls of her vagina was one of the most exquisite things she had ever felt.

 

“Are—you—close,” he gasped in staccato tones without slowing.

 

She had made herself a deal to never lie to him in bed, no matter what, though they really didn’t have time to worry about her getting off again with the time constraints no matter what he’d said.  “Don’t worry—keep going, go—“

 

To her surprise, he stopped and withdrew.  But before she could protest he grabbed her hands and hauled her up, then sat down and tugged her into his lap, her legs folding on either side of his muscular thighs.  He grasped her hips and moved her into position, reaching down to hold himself steady for her.  This was a position they hadn’t done before, but she didn’t hesitate.

 

She sank down on his thick cock, moaning, her hands on his broad shoulders over the starched shirt, leaning forward to kiss him.  Her lace-covered breasts began to rub against his rock-hard chest and she gasped around his mouth as even more sensation shot through her.  His tongue twisted into her mouth even as she felt his hand between their bodies, rubbing awkwardly but effectively at her clit as she lifted and fell on him.  They gasped for breath around the kiss as she rode him hard and fast, tongues meeting in the air between their mouths when they had to breathe.

 

Within moments she peaked again and threw her head back, moaning and gasping in a hoarse voice as euphoria burst through her, intense and powerful like it was only with him.  Mulder took hold of her hips with both hands and began to slam her down on him as he pushed up, grunting and moaning as his orgasm built.  Scully brought her head back down in time to watch him as he came, feeling her heart jolt at the sensual, beautiful sight of his face grimacing in pleasure as he pulled her down on him one final time and froze, quivering, groaning long and hard through his teeth.

 

She collapsed against his chest, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and letting herself relax.  They were hot, sweaty, panting, their skin and clothing sticking together, but even with the threat of the clock, neither moved for a few minutes.

 

“Airport,” Mulder finally muttered, loosening his arms from around her waist. 

 

“Work,” she agreed, but didn’t move.

 

“We finished with five minutes to spare but used it up in afterglow,” he said huskily, then reached down to squeeze her bare ass which rested against his sweaty thighs. 

 

Scully sighed and carefully climbed off of him, grabbing her panties from where they were crumpled nearby on the floor and yanked them on, grimacing, hoping they hadn’t made a mess of her couch or floor.  “We should have added time for a shower.”

 

“We’ll have plenty of time later,” he leered as he began to button up his wrinkled shirt.  “Trust me on that.”

 

**Three**

 

Luckily their flight had been delayed or they’d have never have made it on the plane.

 

They taxied straight to the hotel from the airport, agreeing to meet back in the lobby after showering and changing in their own rooms.  They could emerge looking once again like the respectable, serious officers of that law that they were.  Still, in his mind’s eye he could see Scully riding him like a bucking bull on her couch hours earlier, her glowing auburn hair undulating around her head even as her radiant blue eyes met his with a passion and adoration that made his heart leap.  He had never thought he’d find someone who loved him so openly and doubtlessly, but now he knew he had.  How had such an obsessed, selfish, sorry son of a bitch like himself gotten so lucky?

 

Mulder had always assumed they would snap and fuck mindlessly in the heat of passion the first time, but that was not at all what happened. It had been slow and deep and emotional, a melding of minds and bodies like he had not even been able to imagine.  That had also happened the two times since, though this afternoon had been the most uninhibited and intense ever.  But even as they raced toward completion they had gazed into each other’s eyes, and Mulder felt a profound connection to Scully that he’d never even imagined having with another person.

 

He only hoped that they weren’t treating each other differently outside of their private life.  He suspected that he had been wearing his heart on his sleeve for some time concerning Scully and wondered if that attitude had changed noticeably to those who knew them, especially Skinner, Maggie Scully, and the Gunmen.  There was no way he could ever treat her the way he used to, and yet he struggled with being too open with his feelings and showing unguarded affection.

 

He wondered if she felt the same way.  _Perhaps I should ask her,_ he thought as he stepped off the elevator and walked down the short hall to the hotel lobby.  But moments later, all coherent thought fled as he spotted his partner standing by the complementary coffee stand, filling two cups. 

 

Though she had been wearing black suits a lot lately, he recognized the deep red jacket she had on.  It had been years since he’d seen it, but he remembered that she used to wear it with a snug gray t-shirt beneath and matching red pants.  This time she had on a fairly tight black skirt that fell just below her knees.  When she shifted her weight to toss a stir stick in the trash, he saw that it had a slit up the back that went halfway up her thighs.  As usual she was wearing her 3” fuck-me heels, and it was all he could do not to have a physical reaction right then and there even as his heart swelled with love and admiration for her.  The fact that a morbidly obese businessman who reeked of garlic brushed past him with a muttered curse helped curb his arousal.

 

She turned toward him as he got his feet moving and walked over, hoping his exterior showed a calm, cool, competent agent and not the quivering six-foot casualty of desire he was turning into.  “There you are.  I was beginning to wonder if you were going to join me on this interview,” she said with amusement as she snapped lids onto the Styrofoam cups.  When she faced him, he saw that she was wearing the same grey ribbed shirt beneath the jacket that she’d paired it with long ago.  Now, he thought, he’d get to see how tight that shirt really was… later.

 

He took the cup from her with a nod of thanks and they turned towards the doors.  “You’re the only woman I’ve ever known who gets ready faster than a man does,” he remarked.

 

“That’s because you use more product in your hair than most women, myself included ,” she volleyed back, smiling up at him.  Her lips were closed, but her dimples peeked out and eyes sparkled in the dying sunlight as they walked out onto bustling 57th Avenue. 

 

“Hey, gotta look the part,” he protested, wriggling the knot of his tie with his free hand.  Though it was nearly six in the evening, a cab pulled right up to the curb as they reached it.  Mulder shrugged and opened the door, letting Scully get in first before joining her. 

 

Though the museum closed at five, they had gotten permission to view the painting after-hours and were met by a docent waiting just inside.  A security guard unlocked the doors as soon as Mulder and Scully held up their badges, and they were ushered inside.  “Hello, I’m Nancy Danson, please follow me,” the docent said formally and briskly walked away.  She was a tall, statuesque middle-aged woman with upswept gray hair who strode along in front of them without talking.  She reminded Mulder of his mother, minus the height.

 

The Met was echoingly quiet and, Mulder thought, a bit creepy as they walked through the building to the special exhibit room.  But it wasn’t totally empty of people; staff worked here and there, and a skinny man with a janitorial cart passed them near the food court.  It was difficult not to stop and look at exhibits, especially the sculpture hall which had always been one of his favorites. 

 

When they finally reached the Art of the Greek Divinities exhibit, Mulder pulled his notebook out of his inside jacket pocket and began questioning the docent, who seemed taken aback.  She told him nothing that they hadn’t already found out through research, but the real point of talking to her was to let Scully study the painting. 

 

Finally he saw his partner glance over and quirk an eyebrow back at him, and he snapped his notebook closed.  “Thank you, Mrs. Danson,” he said, turning away from her.  “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”

 

“But I can’t leave you alone here, I was told specifically to stay with you both,” she protested.  “We can’t have anyone, not even federal agents, wandering around after hours without a guide.”

 

Mulder mentally rolled his eyes.  “You’re welcome to stay, of course, but I need to speak to my partner in private.”

 

The docent strode away and went to stand in the doorway with military precision, her arms crossed over the jumble of cards hanging from the lanyard around her neck, glaring at them.

 

He joined Scully in front of the painting.  Standing just behind and to one side of her, he could smell her citrus-scented shampoo that he now knew matched the body wash/splash that she used.  _And she thinks_ I _use a lot of product,_ he thought, grinning inwardly, but didn’t say anything.  “So, find anything interesting?” he asked softly.

 

He had thought that once they were past the final obstacle between them his constantly-simmering desire for her would lessen, fade away.  But it seemed to be just the opposite.  Just being this close to her and somewhat alone was causing a stirring in his pants, a distraction he didn’t need but was helpless to control.  The only good thing was that he didn’t feel as uncomfortable around her; it did seem like their ongoing sexual encounters were taming the awkwardness of that first week.

 

“Nothing we didn’t already know,” Scully said, glancing up at him, then back at the painting.  “The only thing I could do is test it for spores or mold, but that’s pretty far-fetched since it’s already been tested ten ways to Sunday before it was allowed to be exhibited.”

 

Mulder stepped around her and closer to the painting, though he didn’t cross the red velvet rope with a “No Photos” sign strung in front of it.  “Look at the goddess’ eyes,” he said, pointing up at the figure above the others, all of whom were depicted on the floor of the cave.  The painting was large, easily four feet tall by six feet wide, with a plain, lightly-stained wooden frame that looked even more ancient than the canvas itself was.

 

“Yeah, I noticed the effect that her eyes follow you, it’s quite skilled,” Scully said from behind him.  “The detail is stunning, especially for the time.  It very much reminds me of Bronzino, though it was painted two hundred years before he was born.”

 

Mulder turned and looked down at her, impressed.  “You know art, Scully?”

 

She shrugged, still looking at the large painting in front of them.  “I know what I like, and the late Renaissance painters are my favorites. Plus, my mom always dragged us to museums wherever we moved so I’m more familiar with art than I ever thought I’d be.”

 

Mulder hummed noncommittally, looking back at the painting.  The goddess had never been officially identified, though it was assumed she was Hera or possibly even Artemis.  The latter was usually portrayed as young and athletic while this woman was older, more voluptuous than muscular.  But she didn’t appear to be weak or soft, not with that stern but loving look in her amazingly-painted brown eyes.

 

Scully suddenly crossed her arms over her chest, clutching her upper arms, and shivered noticeably.  “Did you feel a cold draft?” she said, looking around.  “I just got the strangest chill; it raised goosebumps all over me.”

 

“That’s exactly what the other women experienced, Scully,” Mulder said excitedly as they faced each other.  He wanted to reach out and rub her biceps to help warm her up but was aware of the docent’s angry glare.  “You’re a lot older than the others, though.”

 

Scully’s flat, unamused basilisk stare made him pause and mentally rewind the words he’d just said.  “I, ah, didn’t mean—“

 

She quirked an eyebrow at him and said drily, “I know, the oldest of the other women was in her mid-twenties while I’m a feeble old lady of thirty-six.”

 

There must have been an interesting look on his face, Mulder thought, because Scully’s composure cracked and she gave him one of her lovely closed-mouth smiles, her eyes glittering with amusement though she was still rubbing her upper arms through the red blazer.  “Mulder, I get what you mean, and I agree, though I don’t think anything supernatural is going on,” she said, turning away with finality.  “I’m sure we’ll figure out what it really is.” 

 

He matched her step as they walked back towards the glowering docent and got out as quickly as they could without being rude.  Mostly. 

 

Outside, they began to walk along 5th Avenue heading downtown among the eddying pedestrians and picked up their conversation.  The lights of the apartment buildings across the street twinkled in the darkness, which was broken only by the occasional streetlight.  “So if it’s not a Greek goddess putting the whammy on women, then what do you think it is?”

 

“Any number of things, Mulder,” Scully said as she strode next to him, the gusting evening breeze ruffling her hair.  “I felt it myself; as a scientist I can’t deny that.  But I didn’t see a ghost or little grey men—“

 

They grinned at each other, then Mulder glanced at his watch.

 

“—or feel any differently than I did half an hour before.  Who knows, maybe some medieval herb got into the wooden frame and is having a hallucinogenic effect.”

 

“You mean like that man-eating fungus that almost made a sushi dinner out of us?”

 

“Yeah, something like that.  But more subtle.  Maybe I can get some air quality… what are you doing?”

 

Mulder had looked over his shoulder, spotted a cab with its light on heading their way, and waved it down.  “Dinner,” he said succinctly.  “Don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

 

Once in the cab and on their way, Scully turned to face him, legs crossed at the knee and hands in her lap.  “So what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

 

“Interviewing the two women who agreed to talk to us.  We have a ten a.m. appointment with Brenna Kruger at the Starbucks on 57th at Lexington; she works nearby so it’s easiest for her.  Then we see Jane at one o’clock in her apartment.”

 

They both hung on for dear life as the cabbie squealed onto 59th and accelerated, causing them to bounce so that their shoulders bumped.  He swung around onto 3rd against the light and nearly got t-boned by another cab, and both drivers shouted and shook fists at each other through their open windows. 

 

It was a relief when they pulled up in front of the restaurant; Mulder had never liked the way cabbies drove in Manhattan.  It was like they had to impress their passengers with how badass they were even when there wasn’t much traffic at seven pm on a Tuesday night. 

 

He helped Scully out of the cab but when she turned and saw where they were, she balked.  “Smith and Wollensky, Mulder?  Isn’t that a bit much? And you know the FBI will never let us expense it.”

 

“It’s on me,” he said easily, putting his hand in its place on the small of her back and guiding her towards the double doors beneath the famous green awning.  “I called and made reservations earlier.  We deserve to splurge for a change.”

 

“Is this a date, Mulder?” she asked, glanced up at him through her lashes as she walked through the door he held open for her.

 

“If you want it to be,” he said hopefully.  “We’re off the clock.”

 

“That we are,” she agreed silkily as the black-suited maître d' headed their way.  “And a good thing, too, because the FBI certainly wouldn’t approve of what I plan to do to you after dinner.”

 

For one of the rare times in his life, Mulder was speechless. 

 

**Four**

 

“I’ve been thinking about sucking you down like a popsicle all day,” Scully said, then swallowed him as deeply as she could, loving the taste and smell of him.

 

Mulder was sitting on the small couch in his hotel room wearing only his shirt and suit jacket, while she was still completely dressed other than her shoes.  No sooner had they stepped inside the door than she’d pushed him down onto the nearest piece of furniture and stripped his lower half bare, then knelt and went straight for his already-erect penis.  The tie he’d done himself, before his hands had, apparently, become good for nothing other than clutching the cushions on either side of him to the point where she was afraid he’d tear the heavy material.  If so, she’d gladly pay for the damage.

 

Mulder groaned out loud, likely unable to vocalize.  Or so she hoped.  He’d gotten her to the point of being unable to think, much less speak, every time they had sex, and she wanted to do the same to him.  Never before had she liked giving head, though she’d always enjoyed pleasing her partner.  It was entirely different with Mulder.  She was infatuated with his penis, wanting to give it—and him—as much gratification as she could.  Once before she’d gone down on him but only very briefly before he grabbed her and threw her on her back, and now she wanted to sit down and have a nice long conversation with it.

 

“Scu—urgh!”

 

She assumed that was supposed to be her name and doubled her efforts.  Though she’d never quite learned the art of deep-throating, Scully put her medical training to good use.  While her mouth went up and down over him, licking and sucking, one hand had crept between his legs and was gently massaging his perineum, the other carefully handling his scrotum, tenderly rolling his testicles around inside the sack of skin. 

 

If the garbled, mangled, unintelligible sounds coming from Mulder were any indication, she was doing exactly what she had hoped. 

 

Scully tilted her head back with her mouth encasing only his swollen cockhead, tongue laving around the ridge as far as she could reach, and looked up at him.  He was sitting back with his ass hanging half off the cushions, legs spread, head thrown back with his eyes half-closed, but still trained on her.  The supratrochlear vein in his forehead was prominent and pulsing, while the large masseter muscle in his jaw was bulging.  She knew these signs of his arousal and was reassured he liked what she was doing.  They had made an agreement to talk in bed, tell each other what they liked, but he was clearly beyond that at the moment.

 

“Scul—leeee!”

 

That she understood, but didn’t stop.  In fact she stepped up her movements, beginning to bob her head up and down faster while sucking on his shaft.  She’d hoped to draw this out, but it was difficult to slow down when she knew that he was hurtling towards ecstasy. 

 

“Scul—Scul—gonna, uh, oh, aaahhh…”

 

She moved her hand from his perineum and used it to hold up his cock, then lifted her head and gazed up at him, enjoying his taste in her mouth.  “Go for it, Mulder.  You’re down by one—I want to even us up so we can start over again tomorrow.”

 

His eyes glazed over and he moaned, and didn’t protest when she slid her mouth down over him again.  But this time she didn’t let go of the base of his cock, instead allowing her hand to follow her lips, stroking him firmly.  For a moment she thought she felt an orgasm rising in her own body, climbing towards the peak faster and more effortlessly than she ever had, but it faded away almost as soon as she realized it.

 

It wasn’t long before his hips began to jerk despite the fact that he was obviously trying to hold still, and she felt his testicles draw up tight against his body.  She changed from rolling his scrotum to gently rubbing along the bottom, and pushed his cockhead as far back in her mouth as she could in preparation for his ejaculate.  He let out a strangled cry, his whole body shuddered spasmodically, and then he shot his load of semen into her mouth.  Though she knew that an ejaculate was only about a tablespoon, it seemed like a lot more at the moment.

 

Scully swallowed it all, then gentled all of her movements.  She was trying to draw out his orgasm without being too rough.  She already knew that he got very sensitive afterward and slowly reduced her movements until she finally let him fall out of her mouth. 

 

“God, fuck, Scully, Jesus,” he mumbled, reaching down with one hand to pull her up on the couch with him.  “Is the top of my head still on?”

 

She smiled and snuggled next to him, laying her head on his shoulder.  “I’m surprised that mine still is, with as hard as you came.”

 

Mulder barked a laugh, then kissed the top of her head.  “Give me a minute and I’ll—”

 

“No, that’s okay, I’m fine.  Tired.  Seriously, I just wanted to make you feel good.  But if I wake you up during the night because I’ve changed my mimnd, do not argue.”

 

And that was exactly what happened, and what he did.

 

**Five**

 

Their meeting the next morning with Brenna Kruger, the first witness, was of no real help, as she vacillated with her description of what had happened.  She seemed so worried that they would think she was crazy, or a flake, that she kept contradicting herself and it was impossible to keep her story straight. 

 

Jane Herbert was refreshingly different.

 

They met the young heiress in her penthouse, after being escorted up by a security guard.  The elevator opened into the foyer of her apartment, which was nothing like what Scully had imagined.  She had thought that a multi-billionaire would live in an overblown, ostentatious place with gilded furniture and white shag carpet, large gaudy gold-framed paintings on the walls and perhaps a case of stern-looking leather-bound books which had never had their spines cracked. 

 

Jane’s apartment had an open floorplan, with beautiful inlaid parquet flooring, brick outer walls, the few inner walls painted in soft pastel earth tones.  The sprawling living room furniture was a highly polished blonde wood while the couches, chairs, and loveseat cushions were in shades of brown and red muslin, with brightly colored throw pillows and rugs of solid primary colors.  The walls were covered with an unusual but harmonious assortment of landscape paintings, mostly autumn landscapes, and what looked to be hand-woven hangings.

 

The overall feeling was of a slightly bucolic, comfortable retreat, an almost carelessly-designed haven from the world.

 

After introductions were made and Jane sent her assistant to make coffee, Scully gestured to the rooms and said, “Your place is beautiful.  Not what I expected, to be honest.  I thought it would look more like the Trumps’ apartment in their new tower, which was featured in Vogue last week.”

 

Jane Herbert was a tall, lanky platinum blonde with a pug nose, wide-set brown eyes, and a mop of short, carefully tousled hair.  She actually looked better in person than in her pictures, Scully thought, especially since she was dressed in a plain turquoise t-shirt and black yoga pants instead of the lurid, skintight minidresses she was usually photographed in.  “Thanks, I designed it.  I know, everyone remarks on how down to earth and simple it is, but I like it.  Vulgar may be ‘in’, as the Trumps so obviously seem to think, but I never do what people expect me to.”

 

That was an understatement, Scully thought as they walked through the living room.  Jane led them to a small nook just off the kitchen where a delicate, sienna-colored porcelain coffee service with finely-carved bamboo handles and brass accents sat on the gleaming wooden pub table. 

 

Jane had become infamous over a blurry sex tape featuring her and her former boyfriend, mostly because she seemed proud of it rather than chagrined that it had been leaked.  Then, three years ago at the tender age of twenty-three, she had taken over her father’s famous restaurant chain when he died unexpectedly from a heart attack.  She had shocked everyone by not just keeping it afloat, but making the business boom with her unusual and crafty ideas.  People weren’t sure if they should revile or admire her.

 

They sat on cushioned, low-backed stools around the tall square table and each fixed a cup of coffee from the supplies on the braided bamboo tray.  The breakfast nook was in a corner, with two large, uncovered windows looking down over SoHo.  Though her apartment was the entire top floor, the building was only ten stories so the view, while not far-reaching, was fascinating with the old iron building fronts, brownstones, and various people walking around in the warm summer sunlight.

 

“So, Agents, what is it you need to know?  Or are you just here to make fun of me like the regular cops did?”

 

Both looked at her in surprise.  “We wouldn’t do that to anyone,” Scully said. 

 

“We’re from a division of the FBI that looks into unusual cases,” Mulder explained. 

 

“You won’t get a better chance to tell the truth, and be believed,” Scully added, glanced at her partner knowingly.

 

Jane shrugged, wrapping her hands around the delicate teacup.  “Okay then.”

 

Mulder pulled out and flipped open his notebook, though Scully knew that he only used it as a prop to reassure witnesses or worry suspects.  He kept all his notes in his head.  “So, you had a reaction to the painting?  Could you describe it for us?”

 

She appeared to be relaxed rather than defensive which was a good sign, Scully thought, after the Kruger debacle and the fact that no one else would talk to them.  “Sure.  I was at the premiere party for the exhibit, since I’m on the museum board of directors and helped bring it here with funding.  As you know, that painting is the centerpiece of the exhibit because it’s so unique.  Anyway, I was standing close to it, studying it, and all of a sudden I was freezing as if I had stepped through a portal to Alaska.” She shivered and lifted her cup to take a sip.  “I started to head for the coatroom to get my wrap, thinking I’d been blasted from an air conditioning vent, but before I got four steps I suddenly knew something was very wrong.”

 

Scully thought back to her own encounter when she’d viewed the painting and wondered if she had imagined the slight cold sensation that had washed over her.  The Kruger woman had described something similar to what Jane had experienced, at least before she tried to say that it didn’t happen.  But that wasn’t what Scully had felt.

 

“It’s kind of difficult to explain, but the more I thought about it, the more I kept seeing Uncle Zep in my mind.  He’s my father’s brother but they never got along, and he was damn pissed when Daddy left everything to me.  Just in the last few weeks he’d started coming around again, trying to take me out to dinner or for drinks so we could ‘talk’.” She shuddered again.  “I knew he wanted to talk about my inheritance and told him no, then started avoiding him.  But the day before the exhibit, I was almost hit by a white van while crossing Broome right by where it splits to Watts.  I was by myself, on my way home from a new gallery opening, and my car service pulled up on the wrong side of the street instead of turning onto Broadway, so I had to cross the street.  The driver saw it and even said it seemed like the guy was aiming for me.”

 

“Did you see the plate?  Or the driver?” Mulder asked.

 

“No, but I did get a few seconds’ warning or I’d be nothing but a large red spot in the middle of Broome Street,” the other woman said drily.  “A crazy tingling feeling ran through me when I was in the middle of the road, almost like an electric shock, and I kind of jumped forward.  If I hadn’t, I’d have been hit dead on. Literally.”

 

Scully struggled to keep her expression neutral.  Though it was possible that something natural on the painting, like mold, could have produced the tingling sensations, she couldn’t see how an incident that had happened far from the painting had anything to do with it.

 

“I was pretty shook up, but didn’t bother calling the police.  Then I found myself thinking about my uncle even more, about how he’d be the automatic beneficiary if anything happened to me.  I couldn’t stop thinking about it, I became obsessed with it like I’ve never done before.  So, without telling anyone, I changed my will so that he gets nothing, and decided to see if I could smoke him out and find out if it really _was_ him trying to hurt or kill me.”

 

Scully’s estimation of the other woman rose a notch.  Mulder nodded for her to go on without any further questions.

 

“So, I hired a private detective—“

 

“That was smart,” Mulder remarked.

 

“I thought so, too.” Though Jane’s tone was a bit sardonic, Scully didn’t get a mean vibe from her.  “Anyway, she didn’t turn up much at first.  But then she followed my uncle to some sleazy motel in Brooklyn, what a cliché, where he met with some guy.  She had a rifle mic and managed to record the conversation.”

 

“We read the transcript,” Mulder said.  “What a guy.”

 

“Yeah, failing to poison me or run me down, he was trying to find a gun for hire—although I don’t know where he’d have gotten the money to pay a hit man, since he’s completely broke,” she sniffed, pouring more dark roast into her cup.  She glanced at them with the pot in her hand, and both agents shook their heads.  “So that was enough for the cops to nab him on attempted murder and he’s locked away for a good long time.  I haven’t had one of those weird cold spells or shivering goose-walked-over-my-grave feelings since.”

 

Mulder flipped his notebook closed, though Scully knew he had probably only doodled in it a little.  “So you got, what, two warnings, actual feelings, that something bad was going to happen?” he asked.

 

“Yeah, though I seriously couldn’t stop thinking about him for weeks,” she agreed.  “And when he invited me to dinner or asked if he could come over to talk before I hired the PI, I got a really bad feeling about it. And I listen to my feelings.”

 

Mulder pushed his stool back and stood.  “Well thank you, Miss—”

 

“Hey, wait.  I heard that there’s been a couple of other people, both women, also affected,” Jane said, also getting to her feet.  Scully followed suit.  “What happened to them?”

 

“Well, one totally recanted her story, but she had originally claimed that she felt a strange sensation right before she was about to get on the bus so she took the subway to work instead.  Later she found out that the same bus was in an accident with a semi tractor-trailer and six people died.  Her husband went around telling everyone about it after she told him about her reaction to the painting, which is how we found out.” Mulder explained.

 

Jane nodded sagely.  “And the other?”

 

Scully took up the tale.  “We spoke to her this morning, but she couldn’t seem to decide whether or not something actually happened.  In her original statement, she claimed that she felt the same strong sensation as you, only about her boyfriend.  She followed her feelings as well, and found out that he had hacked into her computer and was stealing from her mutual funds and retirement accounts.  However, she told us this morning that what started it was that she found some questionable withdrawals on one of her statements, not that a strange feeling had urged her to check them as she first claimed.  Although, of course, she had also told people about getting an old chill when she viewed the painting.”

 

“Well, no matter what caused it, we’re all damn lucky we’re alive, or not ruined,” Jane said, leading them towards the foyer.  But then she stopped and turned in the middle of the bright, airy living room.  “By the way, Agent Scully, did you see the painting?  Have any reaction to it?”

 

Scully was taken aback, but made the split-second decision not to dissemble.  “Yes, to both,” she admitted.  “But not as strong as yours, and nothing since.” Unless she counted the momentary mind-meld the evening before when Mulder was in the throes of orgasm, and she quickly banished that thought.  Still, it annoyed her that there might actually be something to his absurd idea.  Although why would she have felt something good, while the other women got bad vibes?

 

“Well, if you do get any other kind of weird feeling, don’t ignore it,” the heiress said, walking towards the foyer again.  “Trust me, I never will.”

 

**Six**

 

“So what makes this an X-File, Mulder?”  Scully said, clearly frustrated, as they rode the elevator down.  “I _still_ don’t see it.”

 

He glanced down at her, seeing that she had her arms folded over the red blazer, standing ramrod straight and not leaning back against the railing.  Not a good sign.  She’d seemed fine right up until Jane Herbert asked her about the painting, he realized.  Once again, she was going to deny something that she had witnessed or had happened to her, like being held captive on an alien spaceship, meeting a honest-to-goodness genii, or seeing actual psychic photography.  Though he really didn’t want to argue, he also wasn’t about to let her off the hook.  “Well, if nothing else, the embezzling and attempted murder are enough to bring us in,” he said.  “The supernatural part is the proverbial icing on the proverbial cake.”

 

She frowned, still looking forward.  “There is nothing supernatural going on, Mulder.  The other women just don’t give their own intuition enough credit.”

 

“And I suppose that what you felt when you were near the painting was nothing?” he snapped, wanting to roll his eyes.  Here they went again.

 

The elevator dinged and the riveted metal doors slid open into the brick-walled lobby of the apartment building.  “I’m not going to deny that I got a cold chill, but it was nothing like what the other women reported,” she retorted.  “And I, ah, I haven’t felt a single thing since.”

 

He had a feeling she was holding something back, but decided to take another tack.  He shrugged one shoulder.  “It doesn’t mean you won’t.  Obviously I’m not a threat to you or I bet you would have known about it already.”

 

Scully snorted.  “In our line of work, I’d never going to get anything done if I kept getting warnings from a mythical being, which is what you think this is, am I right?”

 

“Something like that.  Remember, Oreads were the guardians of travelers and especially protective of women,” he said.  “And they were often precognitive, or oracles.  It all makes sense.”

 

“Of course it does, to you,” she huffed. 

 

Mulder was beginning to get seriously annoyed, much more than he should be if he wanted to get laid that night.  While he often enjoyed needling her, he didn’t want to have a big fight which would cause them to retreat to their own rooms that night.  And that seemed increasingly likely unless he defused it now.

 

On the other hand, he didn’t want that aspect of their relationship to spill over into their work.  That being the case, he wasn’t quite sure what to say next.

 

“Look, let me give you an example,” she said.  “I had something happen to me once that seemed like more than a coincidence, though looking back that’s exactly what it was.”

 

“I’d guess you believed it at the time, from what you’ve told me about the younger Dana Scully,” Mulder smirked. “You weren’t always such a rigid, tight-assed scientist, were you?”

 

Ignoring him and her annoyance at his attitude, she continued.  “When I was fifteen and Missy was eighteen, we went to a park in the mountains outside San Diego with a bunch of her friends.  We were just hanging out, not camping or anything like that, but I curled up between two big rocks and fell asleep, and when I woke up a few hours later, they were all gone.”

 

“They _forgot_ you?” Mulder said incredulously, his annoyance forgotten.

 

“They did.  I was cold and hungry, though thank goodness they’d left enough half-empty water bottles laying around that I didn’t have to worry about dehydration.  No one was drinking, though some of them had been smoking pot.  At any rate, I waited about an hour by my watch and realized that no one was coming back for me.  And this was long before cell phones, so I was on my own.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“Well, here’s the, uh, interesting part, and it’s not regarding how I got home.  About three months before this happened, I went on an exercise kick.  I started jogging, swimming laps after school, playing tennis and volleyball, stuff like that.  Really working out, and I got into in the best shape of my life.  For no reason that I can think of.  I wasn’t fat or flabby or really out of shape since I rode my bike everywhere.  But I developed this obsession about exercising and went with it.”

 

Mulder bit his lip on a comment that probably would have got him slapped, even walking down Houston Street in broad daylight. 

 

“As you may have guessed, I walked home from the mountains.  Once I reached the highway I was too scared to hitchhike, so I hid whenever I saw headlights.  By the time I got to a phone it was three in the morning and I didn’t want to wake anybody up to get a ride, so I walked the rest of the way.  I was in such good shape by then that it wasn’t really difficult, it just seemed to take forever.”

 

“How long _did_ it take?”

 

“Nearly five hours, and that’s including the winding dirt road out of the mountains and occasional rests when my feet got sore.  I’ve always had a good sense of direction so when I found the highway I knew which way to go.”

 

“Impressive.  But what’s the non-coincidence?”

 

“I was getting to that.” She slanted a gaze up at him through her lashes.  “Within days after that incident I stopped working out.  Oh, I kept swimming and riding my bike, but no longer did I act like I was training for a marathon.  Missy noticed it and decided that I had somehow predicted my abandonment, and once it was over I didn’t need to work out so hard anymore.”

 

Mulder digested this for a moment, absently dodging a laughing woman in a hijab chasing a scampering, giggling little boy down the street.  “Did you have any kind of hunch or suspicion?”

 

“No, just like I said at first I simply began working out like mad.  No reason to have stopped, either, I just lost interest.  But it wasn’t clairvoyance or premonition, Mulder.  It was sheer coincidence, happenstance.  I think I’d had enough exercise after that walk to last me a while.”

 

“For the record, I agree with Missy,” he said.  “And by the way, what did she do to make it up to you?”

 

Scully grinned, and though she was still looking straight ahead he could see the dimples on the side of her cheek.  “Though I was more into science and experiments than fashion at that time, she did a complete makeover on me, took me shopping and bought me new clothes and makeup.  That’s when boys began to notice the quiet little science geek who always sat in the back of the room.”

 

Mulder opened his mouth to make a crack about how hot she must have been then, but paused as he caught sight of what was ahead.  Instead he said, “Hey Scully, what do you think about having lunch?”

 

“I could eat.”

 

“Great, because we’re in Chinatown and I can’t think of anywhere better to find an authentic restaurant.”

 

He knew how to order from the real, not tourist, menu.  They didn’t discuss the case over Dan Dan Noodles for him and Kung Pao chicken for her.  It turned out to be one of the spiciest dishes he’d ever had and while he liked hot, this was a bit on the intense side even for him.  He was distracted with trying to hide how much water he was drinking and blot the sweat on his brow without being obvious.  The worst part was that since he had noodles, he couldn’t use white rice to cool the fire in his mouth like he normally would have.

 

After, he treated her to an Italian ice from a vending cart on Mulberry Street just off Canal.  It finally soothed his stinging mouth.

 

“I’m not sure what else we can do from here, Mulder,” she was saying as they walked along Canal, dodging heckling shopkeepers and the eddying, bargain-hunting crowds of Manhattan’s Chinatown.  “I guess I could—”

 

“Hey!  Yeah, hey, you two.” Mulder looked over to see a pretty young Asian woman standing in the recessed doorway of a closed shop.  She had a heavy Chinese accent which sounded more like it was faked rather than her real one.  Her long, blue-streaked dark brown hair was too heavy and coarse to be real.  “You look like smart people, people who know how to find a bargain. Am I right?”

 

Mulder opened his mouth to tell her to bug off when Scully stepped in front of him and replied, “We are indeed.  What have you got?”

 

“Handbags, great handbags.  Replicas, knockoffs, look like real thing.  Can’t tell difference.  Great deals.  No funny stuff.  Follow me.”  If the quality of her wig was any indication, Mulder thought, the purses wouldn’t be worth the faux leather they were likely made of.

 

Scully glanced up at him, winking with the eye that the other women couldn’t see, and Mulder nodded slightly.  He wasn’t sure what was going on but he followed her lead.  He knew she wasn’t interested in buying a purse, but then it occurred to him that very often undocumented immigrants or terrorist organizations sold illicit merchandise—unlawfully copied DVDs and CDs as well as counterfeit designer purses, clothing, jewelry, and watches—off the backs of trucks or out of temporary, frequently-moved stores.  It was often connected to money-laundering operations, as well.  If his partner was thinking of this and planning to make a bust, which was what he suspected, he had her back.

 

But he _was_ wondering why they’d been picked to hit up.  Didn’t they look like Feds in their suits and haircuts?  Even sullen bratty teenagers had picked them out as cops. 

 

They followed the woman several blocks to a bustling side street off Canal, then turned down a rank-smelling alley.  She paused at a wooden plywood door that looked like it could be knocked over by a kitten and used the knuckles of both hands to rattle out a sequence of rapid knocks.  Whoever opened it stayed behind it, and they didn’t see who it was.

 

They followed her up a narrow, dimly lit flight of stairs that were flanked with old, scrolled, dark wooden paneling on both sides. The woman stopped on a miniscule landing and once again did the unique knock on the door to be admitted.  When it creaked open, even the moderate light made all three of them blink and grimace. 

 

Mulder was instantly on alert.  He’d heard stories about this, where attractive ‘salespeople’ lured clueless bargain-hunters into remote places and then robbed them.  But, he imagined, a target had to be obviously wealthy before they’d risk it.  Having their customers disappearing or being robbed wasn’t good for business, but he was sure they took the occasional opportunity.  He and Scully probably looked worth a shot.

 

They walked into a large room weakly lit with aluminum-hooded fixtures attached to the stamped-tin ceiling, shedding dim light down on the racks that filled it. As he looked around, Mulder realized that it was part of a larger room, which was portioned off with tall fabric cubicle walls studded with long metal hangers that the merchandise was suspended from.  All available surfaces were covered with purses, backpacks, and wallets, in every shape and size imaginable.  There was a small wooden desk and chair off to one side, with nothing on it except a small metal cashbox.

 

Although there wasn’t anyone else in the room, he knew there had to be another person around.  Someone inside the building had opened both doors.

 

As they walked along, Scully looking at the purses that their “guide” pointed out and Mulder pretending to be bored, he was really studying everything.  There were small spaces between the standing cubicle walls and he could just see something in the darkness back there, and then that something moved.  He thought he saw the gleam of metal, which could have been anything from a gun to a garment rack, and stayed on alert.  He had to assume the worst.

 

Scully turned to him, holding two purses in her hands.  “Which one do you think Mom would like, honey?” she said, staring into his eyes and widening hers slightly.

 

Mulder got it.  “I don’t know, darling,” he replied blandly, but was grinning inside at her dissembling.  “Maybe you should call and ask her.”

 

“No reception, no use phone,” the girl said quickly, cutting her eyes to one side.  The same side where Mulder had seen the movement behind the partitions.  “Get both, one half-off.”

 

“Well if that’s the case, then I’m not going to buy anything,” Scully said in a haughty voice, lifting her chin and shoving the purses into the other woman’s hands.  “I’m sure I can find somewhere else around here to spend my money.”

 

The girl looked to the side again, sighed, and nodded. “Okay, go ahead, make it fast,” she said sullenly, holding the two purses against her chest.  Mulder noticed that her thick accent was lessening every time she spoke.  He glanced over unobtrusively and this time saw a dark figure move behind the panels and his cop’s intuition flared, suspecting danger.

 

Scully suddenly shivered and jumped as if startled while she was pulling her phone out of her inside jacket pocket.  She flashed a meaningful, alarmed glance up at him; he knew that look. With no further thought on the matter, Mulder pulled his gun and trained on it on the wall where he’d seen the movement, snapping out, “FBI!  Put down any weapons and come out with your hands up!”

 

Scully also pulled out her Sig Sauer, finger on the guard and safety on, stepping away from Mulder and pointing it at the startled girl.  “FBI. Don’t move, and keep your hands where I can see them,” she warned her.

 

“What the fuck, lady?” the girl yelled, putting her hands up quickly, in just as much of an American accent as either of the agents.

 

Mulder saw movement, suddenly hearing the thuds of running feet on wood, and plowed into the hanging racks of purses, shoving them aside.  One fell over to his left, but the other rolled out of the way on casters, purses scattering every which way.  In the dim light he saw a running form just disappearing through a doorway at the far end of the large room, and saw it toss what looked like a weapon off to one side. “Scully gun on the floor!” he shouted as he raced across the room in pursuit.

 

It was close, but Mulder caught the guy just before he reached Canal, where he had probably planned to lose himself in the crowds.  By that time he could hear sirens, and an unmarked police car pulled up next to him while he was sitting on the suspect’s back getting the handcuffs on.  Scully had called in the cavalry.

 

After that, they let the machinery take over and sat back for the ride.  Both of the suspects were arrested on multiple counts of copyright violation and counterfeit liability and, for the man who had run, resisting arrest and arrest without violence.  There was also the possibility of a concealed weapons charge if the prints on the gun found at the scene matched his.  Both turned out to be illegal immigrants, as suspected.  A warrant provided access to a truck parked in the alley registered to the woman which was filled with more counterfeit merchandise.  It was a good bust, and the NYPD was even more appreciative when Mulder and Scully let them take credit for the arrests, though they were listed as participating.

 

Best of all, every law enforcement officer had a good laugh over the idiots who picked a couple of obvious Feds to try and sell their Louis Vuitton and Gucci counterfeit bags to.

 

**Seven**

 

When they left the police station at nearly ten that night, Scully expected Mulder to pepper her with questions about what had happened in the counterfeit sales room.  To her surprise, he didn’t mention it on the cab ride back to the hotel, nor when they had dinner at the elegant restaurant in the lobby. 

 

They went up to his room, where all of their things were, as they’d slept there the previous night after she finished gobbling him.  As he walked in, taking his suit jacket off, he said, “Scully, I’m really wiped.  What do you say to cuddling up on the bed and finding a movie to watch?”

 

She was taken aback.  It wasn’t so much that she expected them to have sex every night, but more that he still hadn’t asked about the reaction she’d had in the room.  “Mulder… what’s going on?”

 

He looked over at her guilelessly as he unknotted his tie and tossed it over his open suitcase, which was on a folding stand on the other side of the bed.  “What do you mean?”

 

“Why aren’t you asking me about it?”

 

“What, why you read Vogue?”

 

“Huh? Where’d you get that idea?”

 

“You told Jane Herbert that you’d seen the Trumps’ place in Vogue.  I had no idea you read that rag.”

 

“I don’t—except for research when we’re going to a billionaire’s apartment,” she said, thoroughly frustrated.  “And that is _not_ what I meant, and you know it.”

 

He was taking off his unbuttoned shirt, which caught her attention because he wasn’t wearing his usual undershirt beneath.  She decided not to let the sight divert her.  “Then tell me what you mean, Scully. Can’t read minds, you know.  Much as I would like to.”

 

Her vision was filled with the sight of his broad, smooth shoulders, lightly dark-furred chest, and taut six-pack abs as he tossed the shirt over his suitcase to join the tie.  So much for not being distracted.  When he reached for his belt buckle Scully knew she was sunk if she kept watching, so she turned away to kick off her shoes and peel off her pantyhose. 

 

“Aren’t you going to ask me what happened in that room?” she blurted without thinking.  Subtle. 

 

“Oh, you mean when you had your precognitive flash?” he said calmly from behind her.

 

“It wasn’t precognition!” she snapped, whirling around.  Big mistake.  He had stripped down to his tight black boxer-briefs and was standing on one leg, leaning on the bedside table while pulling a dark dress sock off one large foot.  She sputtered for a moment, then forced her mind back on track.  _So much skin,_ she thought, _so much beautiful golden skin…_ “I probably felt the guy behind the panels staring at me.  He had a gun, after all.”

 

Mulder shook his head, tossing the sock in the general direction of his suitcase and switching legs.  “We could barely see him back there, so I doubt that was it.”

 

Annoyance at his attitude nearly reached the level of her arousal at the sight of him almost naked.  That was quite the trick, she thought, and one that only Mulder could pull off.  “Oh, so you think the painting made me psychic?” she said with open sarcasm, yanking her blazer off with jerky movements.  She didn’t want to admit to herself what she had felt in that dark room, blowing it off as the reaction to being stared at, or her intuition of being in danger as a law enforcement officer. 

 

What annoyed her  even more was that she suspected that it had, indeed, been more than simple intuition.

 

She spun around and presented her back to him as she unbuttoned her blouse and let it slide down her arms. Next thing she knew, she was flying backwards through the air to land on her back on something large and soft, with a hard, muscular something coming down on top of her. She yelped, hair falling in her face, but when she reached up to brush it back the large male body was still in the way.  “Mulder!”

 

“What, Scully?” his voice was deep and throaty, and her body reacted to the sound predictably.  That was, without a doubt, his aroused tone.

 

She blew her hair out of her face with partial success, uncovering one eye to see her partner’s face hovering only inches above hers, his expression filled with desire.  “I thought you just wanted to cuddle.”

 

He rubbed his body against hers, on his hands and knees half on top, his warm soft mouth coming down to kiss along her neck so that his words were slurred, but audible.  “Changed my mind.”

 

“What?”  Scully had to admit, it was getting difficult to keep her mind on her annoyance when he was rubbing his bare, hard, hot cock against the inside of her thigh and kissing down her neck with those gentle but insistent lips and occasional wet licks.  When had he taken his underwear off?  The thought made her shiver.  But she refused to let her body run the show; she was an intellectual, a scientist, for Christ’s sake!  She could control herself better than this!

 

A moment later he lifted up just enough to get his hand between them and rubbed his palm over her breasts, sparking her nipples to attention through her satin bra.  “Do you have any idea how crazy you make me?  God, I’ve been hard all day.  And when you get angry and stand up to me… I can barely control myself, Scully.  And since I don’t have to anymore, gotta have you now.”

 

She gazed up to see that he had an intense gleam in his desire-darkened eyes, and was clenching his jaw to maintain control.  All she wanted to do was wrap her arms around his neck—when he moved enough for her to do so—and drag him down to her, but her pride held sway.  For the moment.  “Mulder, aren’t we going to talk ab—“

 

His face bent down to her and she braced herself for an assault on her mouth, but as usual he didn’t do what she thought he would.  Instead of smashing into her with a powerful, passionate kiss, he gently caressed her lips with his, using his tongue to gently swipe at hers but not try to pry between them.  It was one of the sweetest, most loving kisses she’d ever had in her life and despite herself, Scully found her arms raising to encircle his warm, bare back just beneath his shoulders. 

 

 _No!  No, don’t give in,_ her mind shrieked.  _He’ll never take you seriously again if you let him do this!_

 

She mentally straightened her proverbial spine and, using all of her considerable will to do so, turned her head away from his sweet, caressing lips though she didn’t let go.  Without missing a beat, he began to wetly kiss down her neck again, still gently squeezing and rubbing her breast. 

 

“Mulder!  Dammit!”  It came out a little more breathy than she’d intended.  Why did it sound like she was winded?

 

“Yes, Scully?” Mulder rasped, not stopping his onslaught of her body and senses.  She realized that despite how he was half-laying on her, all she had to do was roll to the side to push him off.  “Is there somewhere else, perhaps south of here, you’d like me to kiss instead?”

 

 _Oh, God._  The mere thought made her shiver.  Mulder knew her far too well after just a few times together.  Though she had never particularly cared for oral sex before him, now she was addicted to it.  He was the only man who had ever done it right, and brought her to orgasm with his mouth.  “No,” she breathed unconvincingly.  “I want to… want to talk more.”

 

“Hell with that—we can talk later,” Mulder growled, rearing back on his knees with one of her legs between them, and carefully pushed and lifted her bra with both hands so that her breasts sprang free.  “Oh, Christ, Scully, you have most perfectly luscious tits.”

 

Before she could respond he had moved, kneeling beside her with his mouth latching onto one nipple while a large, warm hand dove beneath her skirt and cupped her through the damp crotch of her panties.

 

Scully gave up, no longer caring about her superiority or the argument.  What was pride when you could get laid by a man who had the sexual skills of Valentino with the body of Adonis, and who loved you beyond belief?  Talking later would be… what was talking?

 

She spread her legs as far as she could in the restrictive skirt, moaning out loud and burying both hands in his thick, tousled hair.  “Goddamn it, Mulder,” she gasped, one final protest before her hips began to undulate and she arched her back to thrust her breast deeper into his mouth.

 

He groaned around his mouthful of flesh, teeth nipping carefully at her nipple as he suckled her.  The hand between her legs now worked its way around the elastic leg band of her panties and two strong fingers were thrust into her.  She was so wet already that they slid in easily and she cried out in sheer pleasure.

 

Mulder lifted his head, removing his fingers from her body to rest on her hip and gazed down at her with a slight frown. “You okay, Scully? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

 

Though she knew that this was her chance to get him to stop so they could talk, that was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment. “God, no, Mulder, that felt amazing,” she said honestly, reaching up with both hands to brush her hair out of her face so she could see his long, lean body beside her. “Get the rest of my clothes off.”

 

He chuckled down at her, and she felt her heart jolt at the deeply loving look in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.” Backing up just a little, he unzipped the side of her skirt and pulled both it and her panties off while she undid the clasp of her bra and flung it away. 

 

Next thing she knew he was lying beside her and kissing her long and sweet and languid, swirling his tongue around in her mouth, lips caressing hers wetly.  His free hand skimmed down her body from her breastbone to caress her flat belly and then to her mound, lightly furred with crinkly hair.  He cupped her again, holding her like a treasure, before reaching lower and rubbing the lips on the outside of her vagina without going inside.

 

She yanked her mouth away, this time to demand breathlessly, “God, I need you inside me, Mulder.”

 

“Was gonna eat you first,” he growled, kissing along her jaw.  “Don’t you want me to—”

 

“I want you inside me,” Scully gasped, writhing, her body aflame for him.  “You coerced me into this, so the very least you can do is what I want!”

 

“Damn but I love a domineering woman in bed,” he rumbled, grinning down at her as leaned back, then started to swing his leg between hers.  “You in particular.”

 

“Wait—like this.”  Scully scooted out from under him, then rolled onto her stomach and got up on her hands and knees.  Suddenly she realized that they had never done it in this position before and turned to look back at him uncertainly.   “Is this okay?”

 

“Hell yes,” he groaned, the mattress dipping and moving as he got up on his knees behind her.  Her eyes were glued to what she could see of his taut abs and broad shoulders, biceps flexing as he reached for her. “God, Scully, you drive me even more crazy for you than I already am.”

 

She felt him drape his warm, hard body over her back, his long, thick cock sliding between her legs but not inside her, instead rubbing its rigid, smooth heat against her nether lips.  “Inside me,” she demanded again, though her breathy tone belied her desperation. 

 

He leaned back and as she watched over her shoulder, his hand disappeared behind her as the heat of his cock vanished momentarily from between her legs, then returned to push its way in.  Her body parted like softened butter as his hardness slid deep into her.  Scully’s neck went boneless and she let her head drop so that her forehead rested on the bed, moaning softly and steadily. 

 

“This is so fucking stunning, watching myself go into you,” Mulder breathed, and the reverent tone of his voice made her heart jump again.  “I can’t get over how you take all of me in, and how incredible you feel, like we were made for each other.”

 

As he bottomed out Scully was beyond words, beyond thought, existing only on instinct.  He was the only man who had ever driven her out of her own mind with not only his amazing brain, but his incredible body as well. When he paused and didn’t move right away she leaned forward on her elbows, then rocked back and impaled herself on him.

 

“Oh, Scully, oh, God,” he said in a wondering, throaty tone that made her heart jump yet again. Without further ado he began slamming into her, holding her hips in both hands and yanking her back against him as he pounded into her.

 

The result was teeth-rattling ecstasy that caused waves of pleasure to race through her body, rolling faster with every stroke of his powerful body.  Though she’d had trouble reaching orgasm with other men, just being with Mulder was almost enough to get her off, and this wasn’t the first time he’d barely touched her before she lost it. It was said that the brain was the most important sexual organ and she was finding that to be the absolute truth.  Just knowing that it was Mulder making love to her drove her straight at and over the cliff of orgasm.

 

Scully cried out her fulfilment as she felt her inner muscles pulsing around him, then ducked her head into the bedclothes and moaned into the soft cotton as he continued to drive into her with long, fast, powerful strokes.  Though she was beyond words, he was not.

 

“Ready for me, Scully?” his voice was desperate and almost distorted past understanding with uncontrolled passion.  “God, I’m gonna flood you… Ah, fuck, I’m coming inside you... _Scully!_ ” He all but shouted her name at the end, then groaned loudly and kept thrusting but with less force as he once again draped himself across her back. 

 

She loved it when he lost control like this; though he had never held back, he was usually more careful with her.  Only once before had he completely lost it, the second time they’d made love, the first time in her bed.  She had urged him on with hands and her voice, to the point where he later needlessly apologized when he was able to breathe well enough to speak again.

 

Scully felt herself still pulsing faintly around his thick cock as he slowed, and took a deep gasping breath.  She’d also never had an orgasm last that long, yet another new experience with this amazing lover who had been her friend for so long.  How could she even _pretend_ that she didn’t want him?

 

“God, sorry that was so fast, you get me so worked up,” Mulder breathed on the back of her neck as he finally stilled.  Then he rolled them both over onto their sides, not disengaging yet, and held her body against his equally warm, sweaty one with an arm around her waist.  

 

“No worries,” she murmured sleepily. “Was perfect.”

 

He brushed her hair out of the way with his nose and nuzzled her neck. “Yes, that it was. But next time it’ll last longer.”

 

She let herself slide down into sleep, no longer worried about who was right and who was wrong or what she wouldn’t admit to herself had really happened in that room in Chinatown.

 

**Eight**

 

Mulder followed Scully into the special exhibits room and nearly bumped into her, she stopped so fast.  “It’s gone!” she exclaimed, then hurried forward.  “The painting, it’s gone!”

 

Both of them scanned the rest of the room with their eyes.  All of the other exhibits remained, but the large Oread painting was missing, an “off of exhibit” sign in its place.  Even the red velvet rope with the “No Cameras” sign had disappeared.

 

This time they’d come during business hours and didn’t have a guide.  After exchanging a glance, they hurried back to the entrance and information booth. A short time later they were sitting in the office of the museum curator, Dr. Landris, a handsome late-middle-aged man with a headful of silver hair and matching mustache who welcomed them warmly.

 

“The Greek government took it back, no explanation, no nothing,” he told them, seated behind his large, neatly arranged wooden desk.  The two agents sat in front of him in simple ladder-back chairs.  “A diplomatic aide came by yesterday afternoon with the order, so we packed it up after closing last night and a van picked it up around ten p.m.”

 

“Don’t you find that that unusual?” Mulder asked.

 

The curator shrugged.  “Yes, but it’s the property of their government so we can’t argue when they want it back.  Of course, it’s displayed on all our street banners and advertising for the exhibit, so that does kind of throw us for a loop.”

 

“Do you have a reproduction you can hang in its place?”

 

Dr. Landris shook his head.  “They only allowed us to make eight by ten prints and postcards to sell, although there were no restrictions on images of any of the other items,” he said.  “I don’t know what it is about that painting… they almost seem to revere it.”

 

Mulder opened his mouth but Scully beat him to the punch by rising and shaking the curator’s hand, thanking him for his time.  She knew damn well that Mulder was going to tell the other man about the painting’s supposed powers, and there was no way she was letting him get into that.  Mulder may not have minded embarrassing himself, but it still bothered her—at lot.  She didn’t agree with him on things like this, but she hated it when other people looked at him like he had just grown two heads or were wondering what asylum he’d escaped from. 

 

Sometimes, you had to know him to love him.

 

Mulder pulled out his cell phone as they left the museum, warm morning sunlight falling over them as they descended the wide white marble steps.  “What are you doing?” Scully asked as they paused at the bottom.  With her luck, he was going to try and book a trip to Greece to find the painting.  More than likely this was yet another case where they’d never find out what was really going on, though at least they had the Chinatown bust to look good on their reports.

 

“Calling to cancel our hotel and see when we can get a flight out,” he grumbled, punching buttons.  “I hate it when cases end like this, you know we’ll never see that damn thing again or ever get to the bottom of this.”

 

“Wait.” She put a hand on his dark-clad arm.  “Why do we have to leave today?  It’s doubtful we can even get a flight until tomorrow.”

 

He looked down at her, squinting slightly in the clear sunlight.  “Are you saying we should lie to the FBI, Agent Scully?”

 

“Not lie, just not say anything,” she hedged.  For all her harping on following the rules, she also knew when it was time to ignore them.  “They don’t need to know when we could get a flight back with such an abrupt ending to the case.  We’ll say in our reports that the painting is gone and we can’t do any further investigation, maybe toss it over to the international department and see if they want to follow up on it so it’s not considered a complete failure.”

 

“And spend another night here?”

 

“Sure, why not?  We can pay for the room if you think Accounting will give us a hard time.” She smiled up at him, close-mouthed, but no less warm for that.  There were no cheap motels on Manhattan and their room, the cheapest they’d been able to find, was still over three digits a night.  “I think we deserve at least one night off.”

 

“I like how you think, Agent Scully,” he said, smiling down at her with green glints in his hazel eyes as he tucked his phone away.  “Since we’ve already had breakfast, what do you suggest we do for the rests of the day?”

 

She turned and began to walk, realizing that they were blocking part of the stairs and people were dodging and eddying around them.  He caught up to her within a few strides, walking so close that her shoulder bumped his arm.  “Well, we _should_ be good agents and work on our reports this afternoon, and then maybe we can find a show to go to tonight at the TKTS ticket booth in Times Square,” she said.  “I spent a long weekend here with some girlfriends when I was a grad student and we got tickets to some good shows that way.”

 

“Sounds promising, as long as it’s not _Mamma Mia_ or _Cats_ ,” he said.  “And then what?”

 

“Well, seems kind of silly to pay for two rooms if we’re not on the FBI’s time, so I say we adjourn to whichever room we keep and… get a good night’s sleep,” she teased. 

 

Though he didn’t touch her, she could feel him wanting to.  Hopefully a hug instead of a slug. “I dunno about that, I think I might be able to change your mind,” he said in an amused tone.  “I did a pretty good job last night.”

 

“You did,” she allowed.  “But I almost forgot about something I wanted to tell you last night before you…distracted me.  The Oreads like to be called Oreiades, that’s their preferred name.”

 

Mulder stopped dead in his tracks and she paused, turning to gaze back at him, fighting a grin. He was staring at her slack-jawed, arms wide.  _“What?_ Are you saying you communicated with them?  Did they _talk_ to you?”

 

Scully shrugged, looking away before she began laughing out loud.  “You never did ask me what exactly happened in that room when I clued you to react.  You just assumed.”

 

“Son of a— _Scully!_ Come on, tell me what happened!”

 

She walked on, letting herself smile, knowing that sometimes patience had its virtues.  She’d both gotten well-laid—several times—and managed to blow Mulder’s mind.  No matter what happened next, it had a been a good trip.  A very good trip indeed.

 

**Epilogue**

 

“Oh my God Mulder!” Scully cried, her naked, slender, sweat-sheened body arching up off the bed, arms thrown wide as her body shuddered from head to toe.

 

He groaned deeply, almost on the verge of coming himself.  Though it had taken several days, until they were back in DC, for him to keep his promise to her from earlier in the week, it had been worth it.

 

Moving his mouth away from her, Mulder surreptitiously waggled his jaw back and forth.  Though he’d wanted to take his time in going down on her and make her crazy with desire, apparently he’d done too good of a job of taking her to the edge and then backing off.  In the end, she had a difficult time finishing.  His jaw ached from being open so long, and his tongue was almost numb.  That hasn’t affected his erection, however, which was still raring to go.

 

It wasn’t like they hadn’t been having sex almost every night, either.  But it just seemed to overcome them to the point where they wanted to fuck, for him to pound into her like they were mad animals or for her to ride him until they both exploded.  He had never been like this before, infatuated with a woman past the point of sanity.  This was so far past any other relationship he’d ever had that he wondered if the others had been in another life.

 

He wiped her musky juices from his mouth and face with an edge of the sheet, then crawled up next to her as she gradually relaxed back into the rumpled bedclothes.  “Jesus God, Mulder, that was… that was… there’s no word for it,” she finally breathed.  “Never come like that in my life before.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” he murmured, holding his head up with one hand, elbow on the bed, while his other wandered over her body.  He ran it down her damp chest between her breasts, over her heaving abs, and rested it on her soft yet taut belly.  “And now that I finally managed to keep my promise, any chance you’ll tell me how you know which name the Oreiades prefer?”

 

She smiled up at him, eyes still at half-mast.  “We’re not done, are we?” she said, rubbing her thigh against his raging erection.  “Maybe I’ll tell you as pillow talk after.”

 

“Works for me,” Mulder agreed as he reached over and turned her body towards his.  The things a man had to do to get a woman to talk…

 

 

_finis_

**Author's Note:**

> Just FYI, both the counterfeit purse scene and Scully’s long walk story happened to me, though not quite the same way I describe them here—artistic license and all that. Although I’ve never forgotten that scary walk up those dark stairs in Chinatown nor my clueless sister-in-law who had no idea whatsoever that we were in danger. I was holding my phone in my pocket with my finger on the emergency call button the whole time and my legs almost collapsed from relief when we got out safely. I’m glad I finally got a chance to write about it, though we obviously didn’t arrest them.


End file.
